of state. It was only when Congressman Kendrick stepped up to receive the award and express his thanks that the band struck the chords of the song in a low, swelling pianissimo, adding emotional impact to the recipient's self-effacing words. To the ringmaster's fury, Kendrick had refused to read the brief speech given to him by Dennison ten minutes before the ceremony, thus instead of extolling the President's 'secret but extraordinary assistance', he thanked all those he could not mention by name for saving his life and bringing about the solution of the Masqat crisis. This particular moment was embarrassingly punctuated by a loud whispered 'Shit!' from the ranks of Langford Jennings's aides on the platform.
The final insult to the ringmaster was brought about solely by himself. During the short photo session where no questions were permitted because of antiterrorist strategies, Herbert Dennison absently withdrew a small bottle of Maalox from his pocket and drank from it. Suddenly cameras were aimed at him, strobes exploding, as the President of the United States turned and glared. It was too much for the acid-prone chief of staff. He spilled the chalk-white liquid over his dark jacket.
At the end, Langford Jennings, his arm around Evan's shoulders, had walked out of the room and into the carpeted hallway. 'That went beautifully, Congressman!' exclaimed the President. 'Except for a certain asshole who's supposed to run these things.'
'He has a lot of pressure on him, sir. I wouldn't be too harsh.'
'On Herb?' said Jennings quietly, confidentially. 'And have to do what he does? No way… I gather he gave you something to read and you wouldn't do it.'
'I'm afraid he did and I wouldn't.'
'Good. It would have looked like a damned cheap set-up. Thanks, Evan, I appreciate it.'
'You're welcome,' said Kendrick to this large charismatic man who kept surprising him.
The ensuing five weeks had been as Evan thought they would be. The media clamoured for his attention. But he kept his word to Herbert Dennison and would continue to keep it. He refused all interviews, claiming simply that to accept one would make him feel obliged to accept all, and that would mean he could not adequately serve his constituency, a constituency, incidentally, he continued to hold. The November election in Colorado's ninth district was merely a ritual; under the circumstances the opposition could not even find a candidate. Yet in terms of the media, some were more succinct than others.
'You big son of a bitch,' had teased the acerbic Ernest Foxley of the Foxley show. 'I gave you your first break, your first decent exposure.'
'I don't think you understand,' Kendrick said. 'I never wanted any breaks, any exposure.'
After a pause the commentator replied. 'You know what? I believe you. Why is that?'
'Because I'm telling you the truth and you're good at what you do.'
'Thank you, young man. I'll pass the word and try to call off the hounds, but don't give us any more surprises, okay?'
There were no surprises to give anyone, thought Kendrick angrily, driving through the Virginia countryside in the early December afternoon. His house in Fairfax had become a virtual base of operations for Khalehla, the property given a large measure of sophistication by way of the Central Intelligence Agency's Mitchell Payton. The director of Special Projects had first ordered the construction of a high brick wall that fronted the grounds, admittance achieved through a wide white wrought-iron gate electronically operated. Surrounding the property an equally tall mesh fence was placed deep in the earth, the green metal so thick it would take an explosive, a blow torch or a furiously manipulated hacksaw to break through, the invading sounds heard easily by a unit of guards. Payton then had a continuously 'swept' telephone installed in Evan's study with extension lights in various other rooms that told whoever saw them to reach that instrument as quickly as possible. A communicating computer had been placed alongside the phone and was hooked up to a modem connecting it solely to the director's private office. When he had information he wanted Khalehla or the congressman to evaluate, it was immediately transmitted, all printouts to be shredded and burned.
In accordance with the President's publicly stated instructions, Special Projects had moved swiftly at the beginning and assumed responsibility for all security measures mounted to protect the hero of Oman from terrorist reprisals. Kendrick was impressed, initially because of the security arrangements. In the space of one hour after a presidential limousine had driven him away from the estate in Maryland, Mitchell Payton had total control of his
